Earlier this week I saw an article on line about a rescue worker who responded to a call. He immediately begin performing CPR, then realized he was working on a loved one. He became so emotionally overwhelmed, he had to let his partner take over. There were hundreds of comments following the article – some showing support and compassion for the man, but many others judging and criticizing the man for becoming too overwhelmed to continue.
For me, the article hit way to close to home. In fact, it shook me up so badly, I can’t really remember any more details than what I have written. I can’t remember what type of emergency responder he was or who the love one was. But the comments at the bottom, keep echoing through my head… and dragging out the memories of that night…
I remember waking shortly after midnight. We were still snuggled up, but Bruce sounded like he was having a nightmare. I remember trying to wake him. I called his name and shook him hard several times. As I was reaching across him to turn on the bedside lamp, he seized up, then went suddenly limp. I was frozen for a moment – not quite sure what to do. My instinct was to call 911. However, I also knew if I was over-reacting, he would be so upset with me. (Keep in mind, this debate in my mind took less than .5 second.)
I called 911.
Some of my memories of that night are foggy while others are as sharp as if it all just happened. I remember talking to the dispatcher while racing to open the front door for the EMS crew. I remember the dispatcher asking if Bruce was still breathing… It know it sounds ridiculous, but I couldn’t tell. He sounded like he was trying to breathe but couldn’t catch his breath. Finally, I said, “No, I don’t think he is breathing.” (I remember thinking how stupid I must sound.)
The dispatcher asked if I knew how to do chest compressions. I did. In fact, up until that point, I had been “the” CPR certified person in our office for years. He asked if I could move Bruce to the floor so the compressions would be more effective. I couldn’t – Bruce was a body-builder and more than twice my size. Plus, our bed required stairs for me to got up onto it.
Instead, I had to find something solid and get it under him before I could start the compressions. I found something that would work, but getting it under him was another problem. It took all my strength to roll him onto his side and hold him there while I positioned the board beneath him.
I remember thinking I was wasting SO much time… I needed to move faster.
I finally started the compressions while counting out loud. I was only on 53 or 54 when the EMS team walked in and took over. They immediately moved him to the floor as they took over the compressions and inserted a breathing tube attached to a breathing bag. I realized immediately that the pulse line on their monitor was flat. I watched from a few feet away, as they tried injecting medication directly into his heart… but the line on the monitor stayed flat. Next, they tried the “paddles”… but still, the line on the monitor remained flat.
I remember standing perfectly still… frozen in space and time – completely silent… yet on the inside, I was screaming for him to come back… but I already knew. No one said a word… They didn’t need to – we all knew.
They continued doing CPR as we waited for a police officer to arrive who could drive me to the hospital behind the ambulance. There were no sirens and no one beside me in the squad car… just myself and my worst fear coming true… and I couldn’t make any of it stop.
At the hospital, they led me to a “consultation room.” There was one dimly lit lamp on a table and two couches on opposite walls. I remember sitting there alone at first. I remember I didn’t want to be there. I already knew what the “consulation” would be, and I didn’t want to hear it… I didn’t want to hear those words.
It was only a few minutes before the attending physician came in and said the words that made everything final and real… a confirmation of what I didn’t want to know for sure.
In that moment my world fell apart. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I remember thinking for so many years, Bruce had been my hero – my knight in shining armor – and now, in his moment of crisis, I had failed him.
His next breath had depended on me, and despite everything,… he had died.
Believe me when I say, I know it is hard to lose a spouse. I know it is even harder to watch them take their last breath… I also know the worst is knowing that their next breath… their very life depended on you, but you failed… I know because I failed.
It took several months for the autopsy results to come back. The cause of death was listed as “hypertensive heart disease” – high blood pressure. (Bruce had been on medication for years for his blood pressure.) The Medical Examiner called to further explain his findings… the piece of the puzzle he felt I needed to know.
As he explained it, Bruce’s heart was twice the size it should have been. This was caused by the hypertension. The high blood pressure forces the heart to work harder to pump the blood. The heart like any muscle grows when it works hard… forcing the heart to work harder. Over time, this creates an unhealthy cycle.
The M.E. also asked if anyone had performed CPR on Bruce that night. I told him I had tried, but had failed. As we talked, he was very kind and explained that I was really “too small to be effective at CPR.” He said that CPR is used as an attempt to help someone who is technically already dead and most times is not effective… especially when performed by someone my size on someone Bruce’s size.
However, he went on to explain that, in reality, no one could have saved Bruce that night. Because of his heart size, Bruce needed a heart transplant. Without it, once his heart stopped, there was no way to restart it… no one could have saved him that night… It was already too late.
While my rational mind understands all of this, emotions are not rational. If I am honest, despite the years, my guilt over my own failure remains.
At first, I tried to deal with my guilt by talking about it, but people weren’t really equipped to help. Their response usually sounded something like, “You know you couldn’t have saved him.” (Yes, I know.) “You’ve been told there was nothing anyone could have done.” (True.) “Don’t say that. You know better. Stop thinking like that.” (True, but what I feel and what I know are two different things, and I don’t know how to make it stop.)
Eventually, I quit trying to talk about it… I don’t blame people for being uncomfortable or for the things they said. They were trying. They meant well. (And I appreciate that effort.) They wanted to help by having me look at the facts… The problem was (and is) I know the facts, but that doesn’t help me deal with my emotions. (I, also, know I have said similar things to others when trying to help.)
Besides, if I don’t know what I need to help me through this, how could anyone else?
My rational mind understands all the facts. I have no regrets about our relationship or how we spent our time together. I am thankful that I held Bruce while he took his last breath. I am so thankful I was with him, and he didn’t die alone. However, I think I will always feel that I failed him… The one time he really needed me, I let him down.
I think I will always question myself and wonder, “What if…”
After being coached and being a coach to others, I know that regret and guilt are emotions that get us no where. They are not productive emotions. They cause us to bog down where we are – unable to move forward because we are spending too much time looking behind.
Most days, I try to stick to the rational thoughts and ignore the emotional side of that experience. However, when I read the comments following the article this week, so many of those feelings re-surfaced stronger than ever. People were so quick to judge… so quick to say what (they believe) they would do. I think we all want to believe we would be “the hero” – do the “right thing” – “save the person in need.”
I thought I knew what I would do. I thought I was prepared to “be there”… to help anyone if needed. I was wrong. I learned that’s not the way life always turns out. What we think we would do and what really happens is often light years apart. This week, I found myself wondering what these same people would think of me. What would they say? What about the people in my life? The ones who loved Bruce, too?
Knowing all that I know… having experienced this for myself and knowing the reality of it, there are (many) days when I am terrified of ever finding myself in such a situation again. I know that learning to trust myself again and being able to forgive myself are a big part of my healing process…
And I am still working on that.
What about you? Did you have any guilt or regrets that you would be willing to share? Or any advice on coming to terms with the guilt or regrets?
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